


Caught In the Rain

by aurilly



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Lovers to Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurilly/pseuds/aurilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Storybrooke, knights in shining armour drive cars and can be nicer than their douchebag exteriors might suggest. (AU after ep 1.19)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught In the Rain

Going on one of her hysterical, solitary hikes was Mary Margaret’s first mistake.

Wearing less than ideal footwear was her second.

Forgetting to check the weather was her third.

This edge of town was mostly woods. Mary Margaret knew it was unlikely anyone would drive by soon, but there was nothing she could do except continue to stand shivering on the side of the road, soaking wet and with a twisted ankle.

Finally, headlights did appear around the bend, and a car did stop in front of her. But when the window rolled down and Mary Margaret saw who was behind the wheel, she wished she were still stranded.

“Need a ride?” Dr. Whale asked. Mary Margaret didn’t need to open her eyes to know he was smirking; she could hear it.

“No, I’m standing here for fun,” she stammered through chattering teeth.

He chuckled, and then leaned over to open the passenger door. “Get in.”

Mary Margaret practically fell inside the car. She proceeded to drip all over the leather interior.

“Sorry,” she said, frantically trying to wipe the water at least onto the floor.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Mary Margaret sat straight up in her seat, looking directly ahead. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—make eye contact. This was too mortifying.

But then…

“Isn’t town that way?” she asked when he made a right turn where normally she would have made a left.

“We aren’t going to town. We’re going to my place. I live just around the corner.”

Mary Margaret squawked in outrage. “You’ve got some nerve. If you think I’m going to bed with you again just because…”

“I’m not taking you home to sleep with you,” he said matter-of-factly, as though he were talking to a patient. “Town's too far away for the state you're in. You’re five minutes away from hypothermia. We’re going to get you a dry change of clothes and wrap that ankle. As soon as the storm’s over, I’ll drive you home.”

She felt foolish for having jumped so immediately to conclusions. She opened her mouth to apologize but—

“Just for the record, though,” he added, “if you want a repeat performance, tonight or any other night, all you have to do is ask.”

He flashed her that wolfish grin of his—the dangerous one, the smugly self-aware one, the one she still found weirdly attractive, despite everything.

But after everything that had happened to her recently, Mary Margaret appreciated his lack of pretense. At least he didn’t play games. She could use fewer games in her life right now, fewer mysteries and lies.

He wasn’t exaggerating. He really did live just around the corner. They pulled into a long dirt driveway she’d never noticed before, and drove down a path towards a mansion hidden by knotted trees and dark gates.

“Wait here,” he said before pulling his raincoat hood up and jumping into the ongoing downpour. He ran around to the other side of the car and opened her door for her. “I’ve got you.”

Before she could protest, he’d picked her up, one arm under her knees and the other wrapped tightly around her shoulder. He kicked the car door shut and ran towards the house.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she said archly, but she stumbled over the words, the sarcasm she wanted to project only halfway coming through.

His sarcasm, on the other hand, was crystal clear. “That’s the first time anyone’s ever accused me of such a thing.”

She pursed her lips to suppress a smile she knew she shouldn’t be making.

Mary Margaret’s legs swung dangerously as he turned the key in the lock while still holding her. She had to grasp him tightly around the neck to keep her balance. He smelled terrible, like wet and hospital and sickness, and he hadn’t taken a shower in at least a couple of days. But a feeling of safety still washed over her, despite the danger she knew full well surrounded any encounter with him.

With Dr. Whale, Mary Margaret never knew what was going to happen; she remembered him telling her he liked life that way. After everything she’d been through, she thought perhaps she should get on board.

“I hope you’re not taking this the wrong way,” he said with a salty wink, as he (quite dashingly, she had to admit) carried her over the threshold and into the house.

“I can—” she began to protest, scrambling to get down and assert herself.

Leaning on him for support, she hobbled her way into the living room and collapsed on the couch in a bundle of shivering, sopping wet nerves.

He stood over her, with that intense look, the same look he’d given her that night in her apartment, right before…

“I think you need something warm in you.”

“Dr. Whale!” Oh god, she should have refused to get in the car. She should have…

“I meant coffee, you filthy-minded little schoolmarm you. Or hot chocolate. Or whisky, since it seems you’re in that kind of mood. And also? My name is Philip. I think we’re past formal titles now.”

She looked into her lap, could feel the red staining her cheeks. “Hot chocolate, please. Philip.”

“Coming right up. By the way, you’re cute when you blush.”

Before she could respond, he ran out of the room, and seconds later, she heard the tick-tick-tick of the gas stove lighting underneath the kettle. Then heavy footsteps running up the stairs.

As she pulled her sodden jacket off and removed her shoes, she looked around her. This was a gorgeous room, part of a gorgeous house that was decked out with really good taste. Grandma taste. With the red damask wall coverings and hand-carved wood furniture, this was a far cry from the kind of bachelor pad she’d expected him to inhabit.

He returned a minute later with an armful of clothes and supplies.

“Let’s get you out of these wet things,” he said, reaching up to unbutton her blouse.

Mary Margaret’s hands flew to her neck. Stiffly, she said, “I’m not changing in front of you.”

“I’m a doctor, remember? And anyway, I’ve already seen you naked.”

They were good points, even if she didn’t like them. The blush returned as, with a distinct lack of awkwardness on his part, he helped her shed her wet clothes and dried her off with a towel. As promised, it really was just as dispassionate as going to the doctor.

Within minutes, she was clad in a giant cashmere sweater and sweatpants that dangled far beyond her feet. The kettle began to whistle and he was gone again.

This whole experience was so awkward, but at the same time not at all, just like that night at the diner. She didn’t want to like him, but for some reason she kind of did. Maybe. Or maybe it was just nice not to have to care whether or not she liked him and what that meant and where it might go… she could just be. He didn’t seem to care either way, and for that, she was relieved.

She took a deep breath. This was going to be fine.

“You have a really nice place!” she called cheerfully into the void, not knowing exactly where the kitchen was.

He reappeared a few seconds later, carefully carrying a steaming mug in each hand.

“Thanks. It was my grandmother's. She kinda raised me. Hope Swiss Miss is okay.”

“It’s great. Thanks.”

He dropped to his knees in front of her and began stretching the bandages out. She watched as he quietly and rhythmically began twirling tight circles around her foot.

“So, you gonna tell me what you were doing in the middle of nowhere during a thunderstorm?” he asked without looking up.

She didn’t have a good answer. Not one that she could form into coherent sentences. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

His nonchalant, disinterested attitude continued to relax her. Mary Margaret took a deep breath, and before she knew it, everything came tumbling out.

“I just needed to get away. Everything that’s happened in the past couple of weeks. It’s too much.” This time the reasons were all hopelessly public, so there was no need to keep the names ambiguous—David, the murder frame-job, the heart, jail, kidnapping, throwing a guy out a window, David going back to Kathryn…

He listened as he wrapped, never interrupting, just letting her vent. All with that unexpectedly empathetic way he had about him, that way she resented for being so at odds with the jerk it was otherwise so easy to write him off as. He nodded throughout, just like he had that night in the diner, signaling that he understood, that he really got it, that he didn't judge. 

“Maybe next time you should take a cell phone, though,” was all he said as she (and he) finished.

Oddly enough, it was the best thing anyone could have said to her. Better than Archie’s analysis would have been, better than Emma’s school of hard knocks advice, better than Henry’s whimsical explanations, better than David’s earnest reasoning. Mary Margaret smiled, the first full, calm, hopeful smile that had escaped her in weeks.

He sat next to her on the couch and picked up his mug. Together, they took delicate sips. She found that she was actually completely comfortable. The effort of the hike and the overall stress of the past couple of weeks started to take their toll. Mary Margaret’s eyes began to close and her whole body began to slump sideways.

He chuckled and took her mug away from her so it wouldn’t spill. “C’mere.”

“Do you ever feel like there’s another person inside you trying to get out?” she asked. She'd already bared everything else; why not this, too?

He thought about this. “Sometimes. Do you?”

“Only in the past few days,” she murmured. “Sometimes I think I like her better.”

“What does she want you to do?”

Mary Margaret looked up at him, on her last shreds of wakefulness. “She wants me to stay.” She looked outside. “I know the storm’s winding down, but…”

He nodded, saying 'okay' without having to say it. He was falling asleep, too. “I wish I had the energy to carry you up to bed, but I just got off a 24 hour shift.” 

“Maybe next time,” she said before drifting off to sleep, her head resting hard against his shoulder, not caring how he might take it.

Recently, she’d been thinking her life was cursed. Not in the specific way Henry thought of curses. Just in general.

But maybe curses weren’t all bad.


End file.
